


No Cowards

by ClaraxBarton



Category: Knives Out (2019), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Modern AU (for Dean), One Night Stands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:40:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25075510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/pseuds/ClaraxBarton
Summary: After checking out of the hotel, Benoit tipped the man generously and drove to the recommended florist to attempt to find a bouquet for his latest client before he left town entirely.Fool In the RainAn interesting name for a florist, though certainly evocative enough that Benoit could picture many a sad, dripping fool holding up a bouquet to someone in an attempt to win favor.
Relationships: Benoit Blanc (Knives Out)/Dean Winchester
Comments: 9
Kudos: 49





	No Cowards

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Flowerparrish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flowerparrish/gifts).



> For the always wonderful and always to be blamed for this pairing (thank you), Jenny.
> 
> And also as always, thanks to Ro for beta reading and all the things.

There was, probably, a floral arrangement that properly expressed  _ congratulations on being acquitted of your abusive husband’s murder _ .

Benoit had to suppose there was, since there seemed to be a floral arrangement for nearly  _ everything _ , but even in his rather eclectic experiences gifting flowers, he hadn’t yet had occasion to discover just what that arrangement might be.

He had only been in Sioux Falls for the last five days - it had been a disappointingly easy case to solve, and sometimes, it felt like… decades since the last time Benoit had been truly challenged.

Still, five days had been enough time to sample the local eating and drinking establishments, and the concierge at his hotel had been very helpful when it came to recommendations for any number of things - from which bars would afford Benoit the best opportunity to… sample local flavor that came in forms other than beverages, as well as a florist that would suit his needs.

After checking out of the hotel, Benoit tipped the man generously and drove to the recommended florist to attempt to find a bouquet for his latest client before he left town entirely.

_ Fool In the Rain _

An interesting name for a florist, though certainly evocative enough that Benoit could picture many a sad, dripping fool holding up a bouquet to someone in an attempt to win favor.

The shop was located in the bottom of a three-story brick building, old and worn and a little worse for wear, but the awning above the shop, the crisp lettering painted on the glass windows and the spotless and well-cared-for sidewalk in front of the shop indicated that the owner took some measure of pride.

When Benoit stepped in, he was… not assaulted by an overwhelming wave of  _ floral _ .

To be sure, he was surrounded by a riot of color - flowers of all shapes and sizes and shades - but the air smelled clean, a hint of citrus and something warm and soft, but nothing at all like the pungent wall he had expected to walk into.

He breathed deeply, relieved but also, just a bit, intoxicated.

How unexpected and pleasant.

Benoit took a moment to let himself appreciate it, to look over the assortments of loose stems, existing arrangements and shelves of potted plants - orchids, mostly.

The floor under his feet was wooden, planks of varying size and color, and looked as if it had been smoothed with decades of wear and polish. As well-cared-for-yet-aged as the shop exterior itself.

He found himself experiencing something akin to nostalgia, not quite regretful that he hadn’t discovered this shop sooner - how would he have? - but… there was something there. Something to the feel and smell and weight of the air on his skin that he would most certainly miss when he left, that he appreciated having had the chance to experience at all.

It made him smile.

Sioux Falls had been disappointingly easy - but this… His slightly greedy lungfuls of air and untangling the method to the displays around him… this made it entirely worth it.

Benoit only had another moment to himself, standing in the warm air, in the silence that felt somehow  _ tender _ without being too gentle. Maybe it was the lights, which weren’t the amber of traditional incandescents nor were they the harsh blue of something more efficient. Something in between, not quite daylight-bright. It had the effect of making the shop feel both unreal and entirely tangible at the same time.

He almost laughed at himself. Waxing poetic in his mind over a  _ flower shop _ .

“Hey, welcome to- Oh, fuck me.”

The voice was immediately familiar. After all, professional necessity and pride meant that Benoit had to  _ work _ to forget a voice once he had heard it. And this voice…

He turned - not at all surprised, not at all disappointed - to see the rather shocked face of a man almost (but not quite) half his age.

Tall - perhaps an inch or two taller than Benoit himself, though not as broadly muscled - the man stood behind a rustic-looking wooden and brushed metal counter, shears in one hand and a clump of… daisies? In the other.

Staring over at Benoit with green-gold eyes, flushed cheeks and parted lips that Benoit knew, from personal experience, were softer than any pillow, any petal that could match the pink of them.

That thought had Benoit smirking. He never would have expected it, but… how wonderfully it fit.

“What… How- Why… You found me.” The man’s voice was soft, a little rough, gravelly with remembered lust and… not fear or anxiety, but…

Ah.

Hope.

Benoit examined the pink cheeks again, those brilliant eyes and the stubbled jaw that was every bit as firm and tightly clenched as he remembered from before, when he had had to coax the man into admitting, into asking, into  _ begging _ for what he wanted.

“Michael,” Benoit smiled at him.

All at once, the man’s expression transformed.

Cheeks redder, eyes dropping, lips firming into a tight line.

“Yeah, uh, that’s…”

“Not your name. Yes, I gathered that when you stumbled over giving it to me in the first place.” Benoit nodded, kept up his smile. He had enjoyed teasing the man before, when it had been even more of a game, when the stakes had been even lower. But now, when it was… both more and less real, Benoit found himself coaxing that coil of pleasure deep in his core even deeper.

“Dean,” the man said, almost a gasp, voice very,  _ very _ similar to the pitch it had achieved when Benoit was deep inside him and  _ Dean _ had wrapped arms and legs around him and held him tight.

“Dean,” Benoit repeated. A much better fit, especially with the way those cheeks stayed pink, those eyes met his again. Not shy, because even from the start - from those first shots and that charged game of pool, Dean had been anything but shy. Challenging, convinced he would lose but unwilling - maybe unable - to back down or away.

Benoit sincerely hoped Dean hadn’t felt like he had lost, even after their three games of pool -  _ especially _ after the night spent in Benoit’s bed. He wondered, though, considering that Dean had slipped away in the morning while Benoit showered, left without a note or a number for Benoit to muse over. Just rumpled sheets and the faint smell of citrus and something else, something warm and soft.

The memory made Benoit smile again.

Of course.

“I need a floral arrangement. For a client. Something to express my congratulations to her for having the murder charges against her dropped.”

Dean stared at him. Blinked.

“Uh…”

“Her husband, abusive asshole, was murdered. Not by her, of course.”

“Right.” Dean nodded, stared a moment longer, and then his lips twitched. “I had you pegged for some kind of ex-military tax accountant type. How… Do I want to know how wrong I was?”

Benoit felt his lips twitch.

“I did attend West Point,” Benoit conceded. “Served for eight years afterwards. But no, I’ve no real head for numbers, nor any interest in them.”

Dean’s lips curled into his smirk, already familiar and so very devastatingly  _ hot _ all over again.

“And to think, I wasted the chance to call you ‘sir’.”

Benoit raised his eyebrows. Dean flushed again.

Yes. Perhaps that  _ was _ something to regret.

Dean licked his lips and set down the shears, put the daisies in a vase and then stepped around the counter, walked towards Benoit with purpose.

Not unlike two nights ago, in that dive bar, when Benoit had finished off one set of opponents at the pool table and the young man - black t-shirt, loose jeans and open flannel doing nothing to really hide the lines of his body from Benoit’s experienced gaze - had stalked over and demanded a chance to put Benoit in his place.

“So,” Dean licked his lips again, close enough this time for Benoit to watch the way they turned wet and dark under the attention, “are you… in town for a while, then?”

Benoit considered his rental car. His flight scheduled to leave in six hours.

Considered, too, that he had no pressing engagements.

Dean was in another black shirt, another pair of loose jeans that were held up by a belt but still curved around his ass, showcasing the miles of leg that ended in booted feet. He had on a half-apron, green and wrapped to his back and tied around the front. 

“Yes,” Benoit decided, “I will be.”

-o-

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Guess what, I've already got plans for ANOTHER Dean/Benoit. If I have to single-handedly write 100 fics in this pairing, I absolutely will.
> 
> Thank you everyone who indulges me.


End file.
